A Star Too Far Away
by Laura of Maychoria
Summary: Lance is having a bad day. Stress, nightmares, the endless pressure... It adds up. But what if he falls, and no one catches him?


**A/N:** This is separate from the Boom Crash series. I wanted to write something closer to canon, more Season 1 feel. More importantly, this concept entered my head and wouldn't leave, so I had to write it. Thanks, brain.

* * *

The mission was a success. Relatively speaking. Lance tried not to look too hard at the smoking city, where large swathes of land were burned and destroyed. Voltron had fought off the monster and saved...a lot of people. Maybe not everybody. Probably not everybody. But a lot. They had saved a lot of people. Lance had to focus on that.

Now, they were trying to relocate the civilian population to a more secure location. The earth under the city had been destabilized when the Robeast had burrowed into the ground to wreak havoc on the infrastructure. Voltron had had to make a few holes, too, to drag it out into the open. That was when most of the casualities had happened. And now, the damage lingered. There was too much danger of buildings collapsing, sinkholes opening without warning. They had to get as many people out as possible, as quickly as they could.

Lance stood in the middle of what had once been a highway, directing fleeing refugees on where to go. People came toward him in a steady stream, and he waved them on, shouting the same directions over and over again. "Straight ahead two more blocks, then go right! My buddy the yellow paladin is standing at that intersection, he'll tell you where to go next. Straight ahead two more blocks, then go right!"

Faces passed him, left and right, all individual, all unique, and yet they began to blur into a mass before long. The people of this world looked exactly like humans, which added another level of pain to the situation for Lance. Their skin was various shades of brown and white, from pale peach to deep mahagony. Yet their faces were all strangely similar. Scared, brave, determined, blank, streaked with tears. Most of them passed in groups of two or more, families holding on to each other, couples, sisters and brothers, parents and children, grandparents, friends.

Then Lance went still, his words cutting off as his throat squeezed shut. There, coming toward him through the press... No. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening, no, no, no...

He felt like he was going to faint. But he held it together, steadied his knees beneath himself, and ran as hard as he could. He was already yelling, shoving through the faceless crowd that separated him from them. "Dad! Mamá! What are you doing here? You can't be here!"

His parents went still in shock in the middle of the street, staring at him. They were streaked with dust and dirt, tear tracks down their cheeks, and both of them were holding one of Lance's little siblings. Dad carried Rosa on his hip, and Mamá led Nicky by the hand. They were refugees just like everyone else, shaking, exhausted. But as Lance reached them they surged forward and wrapped around him. Mamá's hug had never felt so good. Or so terrible, so desperate, so tight.

Lance was sobbing, throat burning with the force of it. His heart was racing. Hysterical laughter surged out of him, and he pulled back, holding his mother by the elbows. He looked into her face, then into Dad's. They stared at him, stricken. Rosa's arms tightened around Dad's neck, her face hidden on his shoulder, and Nicky had grabbed Lance's arm and seemed very unlikely to let go anytime soon.

"What are you doing here?" Lance demanded. "You shouldn't...you shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be _safe._ I'm supposed to be keeping you _safe!"_

Dad and Mamá looked confused. They glanced at each other, then back to Lance. Mamá's hand tightened on his forearm. "Lance, mijito, this is our home. Where else would we be?"

Lance blinked. He felt the blood drain from his face. He was cold in every limb, numb and overwhelmed. He raised his eyes to the city again, and he saw it, really saw it, for the first time.

This was his home. This was Earth. This was the city where his family lived. Where he always, always knew that he belonged. Where he wanted to return someday.

But not like this. Not like this.

His breath was short, choked. He forced the air into his lungs, felt his chestplate rise as he sucked it in. He looked back to Dad. "Where...where's Sophie? You have Rosa...but where is Sophia?"

Dad looked back at him, his expression somehow even more pained than it had been before. Slowly, his face crumpled. Mamá began to sob, weary, soft, as if she had done it too much already and had no more energy for it.

"No." Lance pulled himself out of the hands holding him and stepped back. "No. No, no, no. No! This can't be happening, this can't be..." He looked between them again, his breath pushing hard, heartbeat pulsing in his throat. "Where's Anton? Where's Jordan and Stacy? What happened to everyone else? Did you hear from Mariposa? Javier and Laura should be at school, they should be fine, but, what... What about everyone else?"

Mamá couldn't speak. Dad shook his head. "We...we don't know. Stacy was...she was visiting friends. Anton and Jordan went to the park. We don't know, we... We're looking for them, Lance, I swear to you. But we had to run, we couldn't stay, we... The area where our home is... It's one of the most unstable, that alien commodore or whatever she is said so when she announced over every single radio in the city that we needed to get out. And Sophie..." He squeezed his eyes shut, tears running down. Rosa pressed herself even tighter against him, and she began to cry, too.

"No." Lance tried to swallow, but he could not. His chest felt full of concrete, heavy and despairing, cutting off his breath. "This can't be happening. This can't be real. Not Sophia, not her, not Sophia." He shook his head. He wanted to cry, the tears burning behind his eyes, but he couldn't. Couldn't make himself believe this. It wasn't right.

It wasn't right.

Not Sophia. Please, please. Not her. She was too young, the youngest, baby of the family, the most precious, the most beloved, spoiled and pampered by everyone. She always just wanted to play, to cuddle and giggle and drape herself over her big brothers and sisters. She wanted piggyback rides. She wanted Lance to braid her hair. She wanted to be a princess and a horse trainer and a firefighter and the president of the United States. This couldn't be happening.

"This can't be real," Lance whimpered. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees. His hands rose to press against the sides of his head so hard that it hurt. "This can't be happening. This can't be real, _this can't be real!"_

He was screaming it, now. The sirens in the city screamed too, echoing his agony and grief. All was dark, dark as mud, rising around him, the pavement was breaking up into blackness and below yawned a pit of hell, aching to swallow him whole. He scrambled at rocks, the dirt and debris in the air all around him, and he couldn't see, he couldn't _see,_ all was emptiness and muck, everything around him black, gray, dark brown, hot and sharp to the touch. He fell.

Lance landed on the floor with a thump, the air knocked out of him. His eyes flew wide open. The Altean light fixtures had brightened with his movement, but they weren't bright enough to irritate his eyes. Smart technology. Still, he couldn't breathe. He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. He was covered in sweat and felt sick to his stomach. The dream had passed, but raging sorrow still roared through his body and spirit. It took several minutes to pass, and until then he lay there, his head spinning and body aching, and tried to breathe.

Eventually he sucked in one breathe, then another. Lance didn't have nightmares often, but when he did, they were doozies. It had been a long time since he'd dreamt about something bad happening to one of his little siblings. He used to get them every few months back when the babies were tiny and vulnerable, but it had mostly passed as the little ones grew up and proved that they had the sense to at least look for cars before crossing the street.

Figured it would come back now, when he was half the universe away and couldn't get up and go to Sophie's room and make sure she was breathing. He just had to trust, had to believe... And usually that wasn't too bad. Lance had a lot of confidence and optimism in him, enough to go around. But right now...

He put his hands over his face, still lying on his back on the floor in a tangle of blankets, and stared at the dark inside his fingers. It was okay. It was okay. Everything was okay. He was fine.

He didn't feel fine. He didn't feel okay. But he had to be. Had to be the blue paladin, had to defend the universe. Had to defend Earth, even from far away. He had to be okay. He just had to.

After a while, Lance acknowledged to himself that he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. He sat up, closing his eyes against the head rush, and clambered to his feet with one fist holding the blanket. He wrapped it around himself, then padded out into the hall, moving slowly but purposefully. He knew where he needed to go. Not long into the journey, he regretted forgetting his slippers, but he had no motivation to go back.

The control room. The star maps. Coran had showed him how to activate them, how to find Earth no matter how far away it was. Lance moved the map to his home, watching the stars and suns and planets scroll by, red and red and red, then, finally, at long last, blue. Blue, the color of the ocean, the color of home, the color of his lion. The color of safety and peace.

The encroaching red of Galra attacks had gotten closer to Earth since the last time Lance had checked, but it hadn't reached home yet. He sat down on the floor, tugging his blanket around his shoulders, and stared up at the charts. Let the red stay away. Please. Let him be strong enough to keep the tide at bay.

Selfishly, he wanted to be back on Earth. In Voltron, with his team. He wanted to be there to protect his home and his family from only seconds away. But even on the other side of the universe, all the trouble Voltron could cause for the Galra had to be diverting resources, had to be slowing their conquest. Keeping the red back. They were helping. They were. They were defending Earth. Lance had to believe that. He had to.

His fingernails bit into his palms, and he forced his hands to loosen.

Lance didn't think he would sleep, but he woke from an uneasy slumber a few hours later, curled up on the floor with his temple resting outside of the blanket on the cold surface. He pushed himself upright, aching in every limb, and blinked up at the star charts. No change in the red. Earth was still blue.

It was time to start the day. He pushed himself to his feet and deactivated the star charts, then made his way back to the residential area of the ship. Fortunately, he didn't meet anyone on the way. He didn't want to be asked why he was up so early, why he was barefoot and disheveled. He was fine, really. He just didn't want to tell anyone so.

Lance went through his morning routine a little slower than usual. His body felt heavy, and he was sore all over, not bad, but like someone had taken a two-by-four and tenderized every muscle with a light beating. When he put on his armor, it felt strangely constricting and itched at his skin. He was too warm, too, and found himself panting like a dog at odd moments.

Probably a lowgrade fever from not getting enough sleep. It was nothing. He would be fine. Just had to get through the day, and hopefully tonight his sleep would be better. It was his own fault, anyway, for not being able to control his homesickness and then sleeping on a cold metal floor. Stupid thing to do.

Lance brightened up at breakfast. He always felt better just being around other people. Hunk and Pidge were chattering, excited about some breakthrough they'd had the night before on an engineering project. Lance had only a vague idea what they were talking about, but he interjected himself into the conversation anyway, making cheerful comments then acting disgusted and bored when they answered him with a bunch of technical jargon.

It was a familiar dance among the three of them, and he always enjoyed it. Hunk and Pidge seemed to, as well. Shiro watched and listened quietly, eating his food goo with a small smile on his face, while Keith looked confused but interested. Coran had things to say occasionally, almost as excited as Hunk and Pidge about their project, and Allura resided over them all like a benevolent dictator.

But training didn't go as well. They were doing close quarters combat with the gladiator again, and they'd been getting better at it, they really had. Their coordination and teamwork had been improving steadily each time they did this exercise together. Lance was starting to be able to trust Keith to have his back, to know where to direct Pidge to best use her specialized skills. He depended on Shiro and Hunk always, without question, and he was learning better and better how to use his long-range weapon to give the others opportunities to strike.

But not today. Everything was...not quite right. Lance felt clumsy and off-balance in a way he hadn't felt since he hit his first growth spurt. The third time he collided with Keith in a tooth-rattling blow that scrambled his wits and tore a grunt from Keith, he lost track of his feet and landed on his rear. Keith stood over him for a moment, seething, his sword held out from his body. "What is wrong with you today?" he asked. "Get it together!"

Lance shook his head numbly, unable to respond. Usually he would shoot back some insult about how it was Keith's fault that they kept running into each other, but the words died in his mouth. It was Lance's fault. His chest was starting to feel tight, and he could sense the beginnings of a lump in the bottom of his throat. Then the gladiator came back at them, and Lance scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could.

The Princess was not pleased, either. "Why are you worse at this than last time?" she yelled at them over the speaker, her voice harsh with frustration. "Focus, Paladins! The universe is depending on us!"

Lance stared straight ahead, panting, afraid to look at the others and see their accusing looks aimed in his direction. He knew it was because of him that they weren't doing well. "Lance," Shiro said, a hint of warning in his voice. "Pay attention. We don't have time for you to play around today."

Lance nodded as briskly as he could and closed his mouth, his chest heaving. He knew his face was red. He had to get it together. Allura was right. The universe was depending on them. Earth was depending on them. His family needed him to be strong, needed him to be good at this, even if they didn't know it. Even if they would never know.

It hurt to be scolded by both Shiro and Allura at once, but Lance drew it into himself and accepted it as motivation, as fire in his belly. A burst of determination spread through his body, throwing off the weariness and the ache. He jumped to his feet and threw himself back into the exercise with all the energy he had. He was going to show them he could do this. He was going to _make_ them believe that he was strong enough.

It worked, for a while. He shot and moved and maneuvered and shouted directions to the others when he saw an opening. Still, he knew something was off. His steps were slower than they should have been, his reflexes not as sharp as he wanted. He forced himself through it anyway, determined to succeed. He yelled insults at Keith for being too slow, laughed high and sharp, and loudly celebrated every good shot he made. They were going to win this. They had to.

The gladiator toppled over, sparking in several places. The paladins stood around it, panting and heaving. Lance started to grin even as he struggled for breath, felt it growing on his face. They did it. They won. He felt light-headed and floaty, but they'd done it. Maybe he could sit down now.

"Haha, take that!" he yelled. "Winner and still champion!"

"Better!" Allura called. "I'm glad you worked out your problems! Now, we'll take it up a level."

The grin vanished from Lance's face. Wait, what? "No," he started to protest, voice low and faint. He hated the whine in it, but he couldn't help himself. He was so tired.

Two gladiators dropped from the ceiling. Lance's stomach dropped, too.

He fell apart immediately. That burst of energy was gone, used up, and he had nothing left. He was stumbling, clumsy, never on his mark. All he did was run into people and cause problems. Keith chewed him out, breathless, fighting too, and Lance couldn't blame him. He grinned in Keith's face, tried to shove past him to take a bead on a gladiator. He missed, hit the wall, and he laughed hysterically at how wide the shot went. It was just...it was so _bad._ Hunk and Pidge were fighting the other gladiator, holding their own. He and Keith should at least be able to do this one. Lance didn't want to look at Shiro, didn't want to see the disappointment on his face.

It lasted about two minutes. Then Lance turned at the wrong moment and took the gladiator's staff full-strength to the chest. He flew backward, the breath knocked out of him. Couldn't catch himself. Flopped onto the floor like a dead fish. Tried to yell in pain, but nothing came out, just a high-pitched wheeze. White and red spots filled his vision.

He blinked, wheezing. Pushed himself up on his elbows, then his hands. He felt like he was dying. He kind of wanted to.

Someone had halted the simulation, though Lance hadn't heard a voice over the rushing of his blood in his ears, the sound of his body hitting the deck, helmet thumping down like a block of wood. He blinked away the spots, then stared.

Allura was coming toward him, stalking across the deck with her face frozen in rage. She had left the control room and was coming out on the deck, purely because Lance had screwed up so badly that she couldn't ignore it anymore. She wasn't telling everyone to focus and concentrate and try harder. No. Allura was smarter than that. She knew what the problem was, who the problem was, and she was coming straight for him, because Allura was a problem solver and she didn't waffle around.

 _"Lance!"_ There it was. The tone Lance only heard when he was in big, big trouble. His parents, teachers at school, instructors at Garrison. He'd heard it enough times in his life to recognize this. He braced himself on the deck. He wanted to hold his breath, but his lungs were still on fire.

"Are you not even _trying?_ You were doing well against the last gladiator. You've shown you can fight when you try. What is wrong with you? The _disrespect...!"_

Lance closed his mouth and just stared at her. He had nothing to say.

"I know you like to joke around, but this is not the time! During training, as in battle, you must give your all! Do you not understand the gravity of our situation? Countless lives are at stake! We have no time to waste with your foolishness!"

Lance was transfixed. All he could do was sit there on the floor and let her lecture him. If he'd had the energy, he might have nodded along, because she was right. She was right.

Yeah, he was feeling off today, but that was no excuse. It wasn't like Zarkon was going to ask if all the Voltron pilots were feeling peachy keen before they went into battle and call it off if one of them was under the weather. Lance had to power through this. He had to. Everyone was depending on him. He had to be strong.

Allura huffed, apparently disappointed with his lack of response. "Lance! Are you listening to me? Pay attention!"

He blinked and nodded, tipping his head back to look in her face. "I'm listening." His voice was soft. He barely heard it.

"You like to boast and brag. You do it all the time. But you should only do it when it's deserved. And today was _not_ that, Lance. This is not good enough. You have to try harder."

That stung. _Not good enough._ Yeah. He already knew that. He always had. Allura's face started to get blurry as he stared at her. He couldn't control his bottom lip. He sucked it in between his teeth and bit it to keep it still.

Allura drew a breath to say more. Lance held himself still, ready to accept it. He couldn't see well, couldn't really breathe yet, but his ears were working fine.

Then there was a blur of green and white streaking across Lance's line of sight, interceding itself between him and Allura. Allura took a step back, straightening in surprise. Lance blinked, hard. The blur resolved into Pidge, standing in front of him. Her fists were clenched, raised at her sides, and her shoulders were tense.

"Stop! Just stop it! Can't you see he's had enough? You're about to make him cry!"

Her voice was furious. The shock of it seemed to loosen something in Lance's chest, and he was able to draw in a full breath for the first time since the gladiator hit him. It was a good thing, too, since he was starting to feel dizzy. His vision cleared a little more, and he could see Allura gaping at Pidge with wide eyes.

Pidge raised her foot and stomped it down. "Leave him alone! He's trying! He's been trying all day! Yeah, Lance jokes around, even in serious situations, but that's just who he is! Do you really not understand that about him yet? I know he's not at his best, we can see that, something's off, but he's _doing_ his best, he's doing everything he can, and you gotta stop tearing him down! He doesn't deserve it!"

Allura's expression shifted from confusion to irritation. Lance could almost see the stages in her face, from _What the quiznak?_ to _How dare you._ He gulped, suddenly _very_ glad that Pidge was the one with Allura's ire aimed at her now. He wasn't sure he could take what was about to come down.

"Pidge," she gritted out, and yeah, Allura's voice was the frostiest Lance had ever heard it. "I appreciate your protective instincts for your teammate, but you're misreading the situation. This is military training. It is my job to make this team stronger, and if Lance is proving himself to be the weak link..."

"Don't _call him that!"_ Pidge's ire rose too, as high as it could possibly go. She was trembling with rage. A shiver of fear went through Lance's chest. He had never seen either of them this worked up. "I _know_ what military training is! I have lots of relatives who have gone through it, and I even planned to do it myself, just so I could see the stars like my dad and brother. I know how boot camp works. I know why drill instructors are so harsh. You have to break down the new recruits, have to reduce them to nothing so you can build them back into soldiers. It's being cruel to be kind, to give people the best possible chance at survival. I know that. But you're the one misreading this situation!"

Allura had opened her mouth to reply, but now she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. She was scowling, but she was listening. She raised her eyebrows, prompting Pidge to continue.

Pidge held still for a moment, panting. She looked around the room at Shiro and Keith and Hunk loitering awkwardly, Hunk rubbing his head while Keith had his arms crossed and Shiro just stood there, looking infinitely uncomfortable. She looked over her shoulder at Lance, who was still sitting there on the floor, completely gobsmacked. Then she turned back to Allura, her back stiff and fists still clenched.

"We're not raw recruits." Pidge's voice still hissed with anger, but it was lower now. "If you break one of us, if this _job_ breaks one of us, you don't have a pool of replacements to draw from. _We're all you have._ Lance got torn down at Galaxy Garrison plenty already. I was there. He had a stupid habit of stepping in the way when I was the one who should have taken the heat, too. And I've had enough of it. I really, really have."

She turned around and looked at Lance. Her eyes seemed to burn. "You are not the weak link. You aren't. None of us are. We all have different strengths and weaknesses. I'm great with computers, and I can hamstring an enemy, but I _suck_ at keeping other people's morale up, and I can't shoot a gun to save my life, and I can never see the things you see when we're in battle. You're not weak, Lance. You're not."

Lance swallowed against the lump in his throat. His face had to be red from forehead to chin, now. He still felt dizzy and out of it, and there was a part of him that was convinced that this entire surreal experience was just another dream, because what else could it be? He really didn't understand what was happening here. It was...kind of awesome. But also completely terrifying. What did he do to deserve to have two such scary and powerful women in his life at the same time? He was still pretty sure that he had screwed something up really, really bad.

Pidge spun around to face Allura again, and the fury was back. So she kept yelling at Allura from two feet below. "So don't tell him he's not good enough! He's heard it enough from plenty of other people! We're all under a huge amount of stress, all the time, every single day. We know the stakes. You don't have to remind us all the time! We _know_ we're the unverse's only hope, and we're just _kids,_ even Shiro, and we're all giving everything we can to you and your cause anyway! It's not fair, and you know it, and we know it, but we're doing our best. We're doing our best! Don't make it harder for us! _Stop picking on Lance!"_

Allura was silent. Her lips were pursed, her eyes still fiery, but she seemed to think any response was useless here. Pidge stood still for a moment longer, staring her down. Then she turned and yelled up at the control room. "Coran! We need a hydration break!"

"I'll be in right away," Coran responded crisply, as if he'd been waiting for the instruction.

Pidge turned on her heel and stalked over to Lance. She grabbed his shoulder and dragged him up, somehow. Lance had had no idea she was that strong. He was stumbling, but tried to keep his feet, tried to keep at least a shred of dignity. She didn't make him move far, just set him down by the wall, then stood over him and looked down at him grimly. Lance turned his head away, his face hot, unable to meet her gaze.

Coran appeared in the doorway with an armful of drink pouches. Pidge stalked over to him and seized two pouches, then brought them back to Lance. She even put the straw in for him. She shoved his drink into his hands, then stepped away and stood in front of him, facing the room. One foot tapped relentlessly on the floor as she sucked her own straw with unnecessary force. She was guarding him, just in case Allura decided to come over. Lance was both grateful and a bit insulted, as much on Allura's behalf as his own.

Coran handed out the drink pouches, then he and Allura moved to the opposite side of the room and started talking to each other. Lance looked down at his drink. His hand was shaking. He was thirsty, but he didn't want to lift his hand, didn't want everyone to see. But then, not much use in hiding anymore, was there? Everyone knew. They could all see that he wasn't doing so hot. Pidge had even said so.

Pidge had said a lot of other things, too, but Lance's stressed, sleep-deprived brain couldn't quite grasp them yet. Well, he was thirsty. He gripped the pouch with both hands and lifted the straw to his mouth. At least breathing had gotten easier. He still wanted to sink into the floor and hide for a while. Figured that the training deck wouldn't swallow him up when he _wanted_ to be swallowed.

Movement to his side, and Lance glanced up to see Hunk sliding along the wall to meet him. Hunk gave him a sheepish smile. His eyes were damp, like he'd been crying but wiped it away. "Hey," Hunk said softly. "Are you okay?"

No use hiding. Lance sighed and shook his head. He kind of wanted to be left alone to drink his Altean hydration pouch in peace, but he couldn't turn Hunk away. He wasn't mean enough to kick a puppy, either.

Hunk leaned forward, staring at him more closely. He frowned. "Your face is really red, dude."

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Yeah? I'm kind of embarrassed right now."

"No, I mean _really_ red." Hunk didn't ask for permission, just reached out and pulled Lance's helmet off. Lance blinked. He could feel the sweat in his hair, on his forehead. The air felt nice, cool against his overheated skin.

Hunk took off his own gloves, then reached out and felt Lance's face and forehead. Lance blinked, not sure what was happening. "Dude..." he protested half-heartedly.

Hunk's frown deepened. "You have a fever, Lance."

Lance squinted at him. "I know."

Hunk pressed the back of his hand to his forehead again. It felt really good, and Lance leaned into the touch a little, then made himself pull back.

Hunk hummed and lowered his hand again. "Okay, it doesn't seem that bad, but still. You know health is first priority. Why didn't you say anything? We could have avoided this whole mess."

Lance scowled and sucked his straw. "It's not a big deal. It's not like I'm sick or anything. It's just stress because I didn't get enough sleep last night. I'll be fine."

Hunk narrowed his eyes at him. "You didn't get enough sleep? You usually sleep like a log."

Lance looked away, face flushing. This time not with fever.

Hunk blew out a breath. His voice softened even more. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Lance nodded. He lowered the pouch into his lap and stared down at it. He didn't want to talk about it. Except for how he kind of did.

Hunk scooted closer, his leg pressing Lance's. "What was it about, man?"

Lance swallowed. "Sophie." He could barely say it, voice a mere whisper.

"Your baby sister?"

Lance nodded.

"What happened to her?"

"Died." Lance choked on the word, then pulled in a breath and tried again. "The Galra. We didn't...stop it. I didn't stop it." His hands were shaking again. He lifted them and covered his face. Didn't care if Hunk saw. Hunk could see. Hunk saw everything.

The horror and grief and pain of that moment was rising up in him again, fresh as when he first felt it. It was just a dream. Just a stupid nightmare. He should be able to get over this, brush it off like he would anything else that didn't matter. But instead, right now, he really wanted to burst into tears and cry, to let out all of the stress and heartache and insecurity that had been building up in him since his body hit the floor in the middle of the night.

"Aw, Lance." Big, strong arms wrapped him up, held him close, and Lance leaned into it. Wanted to resist, couldn't help himself. He was so tired, and his buddy was so big and warm and _right there..._ Lance rested his head on Hunk's armored shoulder and went limp, sniffling, his face still buried in his hands.

Hunk lifted a hand and swept his fingers through Lance's sweaty hair. "It's okay, dude," he said tenderly. "You don't have to be strong right now."

"I do," Lance said, voice muffled against his palms. "I do."

"Not right now," Hunk contradicted him. "Not right now. You can lean on me. It's okay."

Lance did. He was feverish and sad and so, so tired, and Hunk had given him permission. So he leaned on him.

After a few minutes, he felt another presence on his other side, smaller but just as comforting. Pidge, sharp and bright and fierce. She didn't put her arms around him, just leaned against his side, but Lance felt thoroughly safe, thoroughly loved. He was lucky to have both of them, and gratitude swept through him, stronger than the grief.

They stayed there for a while, just leaning on each other, Hunk and Lance and Pidge. It wasn't an ideal cuddling situation. Lance would have been happier out of the armor, maybe on a sofa or in a blanket fort somewhere. He felt sweaty and gross, and Pidge and Hunk probably did, too. But for what it was, it was great. It was amazing.

There was a gentle clearing of a throat, the sound of someone moving nearby. Lance pulled his hands down his face to see Shiro kneeling in front them, smiling. Keith hovered above his shoulder, looking awkward and out of his element but determined to be part of the team.

"Hey, Lance," Shiro said gently. "How are you doing?"

Lance shook his head. The lump in his throat was back. He didn't know how else to express himself.

Shiro nodded like he understood and patted Lance's knee. "Yeah." He looked over his shoulder as if searching for someone, but Allura and Coran were nowhere in sight. He looked at Lance again. "So... We figure training is good for today, right? Allura decided. Paladin bond is very tight." He gave Pidge a thumb's up. "So...successful training today. We're gonna take the afternoon off."

Pidge snorted. Lance could relate, but he also appreciated that Shiro wasn't stating straight out that they were going to take the afternoon off because Lance had been causing problems for the team. It was kind of him, and Allura and Coran, to give a different reason.

"So, I can't really tell you what to do with your time off, but I think a nap is in order," Shiro said, looking straight into Lance's face.

So he'd been listening. He'd probably told Allura and Coran, too. Lance nodded, too weary to get worked up about it.

"If you're still feeling feverish afterward, or if you develop any other symptoms, you need to tell Coran so he can check you out." Shiro's voice was very serious. "That's an order. We can't risk your health, Lance. Even when you think it's no big deal."

"Okay." Lance's voice was very small.

"And..." Shiro shifted, looking awkward again. He sighed. "If... If it happens again. You don't have to be alone, okay? I don't...I don't sleep very well, either. My door is always open. Don't hesitate to come in. Anytime."

Lance was faintly horrified by the idea. "I can't...I can't do that, Shiro."

"I mean it." Shiro pressed his hand down on Lance's knee. "I'll make that an order, too, if you need me to do that. Come to me. Come to someone. Don't suffer alone."

Hunk's arm around Lance tightened, and Pidge leaned her head harder into his side. Neither said anything, but Lance got the message. Go to them. Go to anyone. Just don't let this happen again. It was too stressful for everyone.

Shiro smiled. "Yeah. Paladin bond is good." He looked into all of their faces, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk, and back to Lance again. "One more thing, buddy."

Lance had been drooping, but at this he straightened and tried to give Shiro a steady nod to show he was listening.

Shiro's smile was warmer and wider now. "Pidge is really smart. You should listen to her."

Pidge straightened up against Lance's side, radiating pride. Lance attempted a smile. "Yeah. She is."

And that was that. After lunch, which was very quiet and subdued, Lance took a long nap, wrapped in about fifty blankets in Hunk and Pidge's workroom with his head on Hunk's thigh while Hunk worked on a bunch of small fiddly wires and junk on a bench. Lance felt better afterward, though still a little run-down. He went to Coran, who ran him through a bunch of weird Altean tests and told him to get more sleep, which Lance had already known anyway. He was right. No big deal. Didn't really feel like a victory, though.

Things went back to normal pretty quickly, all things considered. But Lance couldn't help but notice that ever after, Allura stepped just a little more carefully around Pidge, always keeping a watch on her out of the corner of her eye. Every human could be dangerous, of course. But it was always the small ones that turned out to be the meanest. Allura had learned her lesson well.

Pidge noticed, too. Her smug smile every single time it happened told Lance exactly how she felt about it. That being good. She felt good about it. Lance kind of did, too. His friends were the best. He'd always known it, but going out into space with them had given him a whole new perspective.

Being so far away from his home and his family was hard. But at the same time, he still had them right here. Always.

* * *

 **A/N:** Lance's dream at the beginning is based on a dream I had. Yeah, I dreamed that Lance was directing refugees, and all of a sudden his family was there, just like I wrote it. It was awful. I woke up crying for Lance. I'm the oldest of eight and I used to have bad dreams like that. They're the worst.

This story also contains some stuff I could write as meta about how Voltron is sort of a military unit, but sort of not. Mostly, though, I just had to write protective Pidge.


End file.
